Selected excerpts from my fantasy genre novel, “Path of Shadow”

Zedra leaned against the corner of The Dancing Rat, attempting to look nonchalant. He was not very good at it. The mid-morning sun shone radiantly across his quilted silk robe in highly obvious contrast to his only company for the next hour or so. The doorman of the establishment, Dregs, sat on a stool with a lit cigar between his tusks. The half-orc was monstrously built, even for his kind. Simple black trousers, belt, and boots were all he bothered to wear to work. Zed mused that perhaps the man could not find a shirt that would fit him.

"Hey, Z? You know all about magical enchantment garbage, yeah? Can you have a look at this? I got it as payment for a job and it don't do jack. Supposed to let me fall without getting hurt but I can tell you from experience, it does not." Dregs pulled his cigar to talk, and retrieved a silver ring from his pocket with the other hand.

Zed leaned towards the half-orc's outstretched hand and took the ring between his thumb and forefinger. He held it up, whispered coaxingly, then set back into Dregs' dull green palm. "It is magic, yes. If the enchantment is meant to soften falling injury, you will need to attune to the ring before it will allow the effect to manifest."

Blank stare from Dregs. "OK, Professor, give it to me in tusker dumb-dumb speak." He wore a cheeky smile, just to be sure the wizard knew he was just yanking his chain.

"By Lunaro's full-moon ass…" Zed pinched the bridge of his nose in exaggerated vexation. "You need to get to know each other better before she'll put out, Dregs. Wear the ring for an hour. Don't do anything else, just sit back and feel it on your hand. Have a drink, smoke your cigar, just don't focus your attention away by doing other tasks." The altan elf raised his eyebrows to see if the man was following.

Dregs nodded and smiled. "She's a fancy lady, gotta take it slow. I gotcha. Thanks, Z!" The half-orc stood to his full six and a half feet when the door opened and Sid appeared, placing his goggles over his eyes. The umbran elf hissed at the sun, then flashed a grin at the precipice of a half-orc. Zedra stepped over to his partner, nodded to Dregs, and they made their way back out of the Market District.

As they started away, Dregs shouted after them. "Thanks again Z! If it don't work, I'll crush your pretty skull like a melon!" To which Zedra raised one hand in acknowledgement without turning.

In his mind, Sid heard his sonorous spell's echo and felt the surge of energy resonate again and again. He was beginning to understand why Snowflake was so arrogant. To pull from nothing but one's own wit and will to bring down a foe, the exhilaration of it. Still, the permanence of a blade in hand would always be comforting. The rogue's keen eyes swept the roadside even as his thoughts strayed. A series of darkened spots caught his attention, along the dry grasses. He knelt and brushed a gloved hand over the area and watched as dried blood flaked away. Sid moved into the roadside grass, hunting.

Ferra's boots struck heavy, her amber hair fluttered, and her hazel eyes picked over every pebble and leaf. She was not accustomed to this sort of task, and it showed. The dwarf let out a long breath. She held onto the hope that her elven companions were finding some useful clues. Frost situated himself upon her helm, sliding about as his talons failed to grasp it. He squeaked and slid off, tumbling to the ground. The owl looked up, shook dust from his feathers, and hop-walked alongside the fighter. She couldn't help but smile as she continued looking over her section of road.

Seeing what most did not, that was a skill Zedra of Ivnaoth could claim. Trampling through underbrush was generally not the way he liked to do so. There seemed to be some activity in this area, but he did not have the survivalist knowledge to always determine animal scuffles from humanoid ones. Zed adjusted his glasses and tightened his search area. He replayed the fight they'd dealt with, and found pride in Sid's ability to cast the spell he'd been taught. Moreover, he found pride in Sid's willingness to cast it. Necromancy sounds manageable until you see people rot before your eyes. The altan elf allowed himself a little speculation in teaching Sid further along those lines. Zedra's future plans stopped processing as his sword pushed past a clump of blackberry brambles to reveal a glimpse of dull yellow cloth. It was bloodied.